


family (re)union

by bendingsignpost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Aromantic, Body Modification, Family, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Team as Family, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: This is important to Markus. That's the only reason North's going.But she has never entered a human's home and left unscathed.





	family (re)union

North squeezes hard, and Markus squeezes her hand back like he’s never going to let go. On his other side, he holds Simon’s hand just the same. North knows he does, because she can touch Simon’s thoughts through the pulses and sparks and flow that is Markus, true skin to true skin. Josh, as usual, keeps on Simon’s other side, letting Markus and Simon form a comfortable barrier between the two of them. Leaning forward in her bus seat, she can see Josh’s legs, folded, and it makes her want to smile even while the rest of it urges her to run. They’re sitting. They’re on a bus, and they’re sitting.

 

 _It’s okay,_ Markus promises, words that all four of them hear but only she and Simon feel. _If anyone doesn’t want to come in, they don’t have to._

 

 _I’m looking forward to meeting him,_ Josh answers, as if there was any question Markus had been speaking primarily to North.

 

Markus squeezes her fingers again. Eyes closed, she squeezes back. She sends a private message: _He’ll know what I am. Are you prepared for your old man to know that?_

 

 _He knows we’re all androids,_ Markus says, smoothly avoiding the point.

 

 _Markus_.

 

He looks at her with his mismatched eyes. With an appearance so personalized, so unique. A swell of emotion bursts through her chest, and she can’t be sure if it’s traveling up through their clasped hands.

 

 _I love you_ , Markus says. _He will love you, too_.

 

_I won’t do anything to please a human. You have to know that._

 

 _I’m not asking you to._ Aloud, Markus announces, “This is our stop.”

 

They stand.

 

North looks over her shoulder at the window behind them. “This can’t be it.”

 

“It is,” Markus gently insists with a small tug on her hand.

 

When she fails to budge, Markus lets her go and walks hand-in-hand out the door with Simon instead. They both turn, waiting for her, Markus’ free hand extended.

 

“We’re holding up the bus,” Josh murmurs, touching her shoulder.

 

They get off the bus into a neighborhood wealthier than any she’s ever been in. Wealthier than downtown apartments, than the uptown lofts of so-called “clients” who used to rent her. This is… opulent. The streets are wide, the buildings wider. Each mansion of a home stands apart from the rest, designed with breathing room in mind, with front yards and gardens and backyard pools. That much is apparent even beneath the winter snow. This place is marble and flowers. It bleeds money the way Jericho wept rust.

 

North slides her hand back into Markus’. He holds tight and leads the way to the closest immense house.

 

“I feel like we should have brought something,” Simon says.

 

“That is the proper thing to do when visiting,” Josh agrees. “Not that I have much in the way of social protocols.”

 

“Whatever you have, ignore them,” North tells them.

 

Markus gives her a look but says nothing. He approaches the front door, the three of them in front, Josh behind, and it shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, knowing he’s behind her. Knowing no one else is.

 

The door opens without anyone touching it, and the home security system states, “Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus.”

 

Markus smiles and leads them into a foyer larger than most rooms. It’s lit by a chandelier. The bottom floor is set in black and white, relieved by wooden brown, but the staircase and above is alive with blue.

 

North tenses as their shoes squeak against the patterned floor, but a weight visibly falls from Markus’ shoulders. He looks around the space with fondness, clearly updating his recollections of the space with its current configuration.

 

“Carl must be upstairs,” he says, nodding toward a device set into the wall. “C’mon.”

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t all barge in at once,” Simon says, following anyway.

 

“North and I can hang back,” Josh adds.

 

“Guys, it’ll be fine,” Markus says, more amused than North has heard him in a long time.

 

Not that she’s known him a long time. Not that any of them have known each other for a long time. Their bonds are that of a common plight and shared trauma. It’s situational, and though she can hide how much that terrifies her, she can’t stop feeling it.

 

 _This_ , not Jericho, not their new headquarters, is Markus’ home. This place where North could have been passed around like a party favor from one inebriated guest to another. She closes her eyes and climbs the stairs, refusing to remember.

 

Markus leads her through the single door at the top, Simon falling behind, and both Simon and Josh gasp.

 

“I’ve never seen so many paper books,” Josh says.

 

“That’s a real giraffe,” Simon marvels, head turned off to their right. “Wow.”

 

“Yeah, people give Carl some really weird gifts,” Markus says, as if this could possibly be at all normal. As if that doesn’t include himself. Then he looks over the railing to the room below, the conjoined living and dining room below this upstairs study.

 

There’s a man down there. Human. White, brunet beneath a cap, scruffy hint of beard. Body tense. Staring up at Markus.

 

Markus stares back down.

 

“Hey, Leo,” Markus says, voice flat. “How’s the head?”

 

“Don’t tire him out, he’s not feeling so hot,” the human shouts up at them.

 

 _That’s the human who got Markus shot_ , North tells Simon and Josh, unsure of whether Simon’s seen that particular memory of Markus’.

 

“We won’t,” Markus calls down. “Why are you here?”

 

The human lets out a _tch_ sound. “Somebody had to be here to tell the police his robo nurse went back to the hospital. Me taking care of him made a lot more sense than him telling the cops he was here alone.”

 

There’s a tension in Markus’ face that North knows well. A tension at home behind barricades, a tension meant for crawling out of ice cold water.

 

“That makes sense,” Markus says, and the flatness of his voice takes on an edge. “But you don’t need to stick around anymore. You can go home.”

 

The human doesn’t budge. “I’m good right here.”

 

Slowly, Markus nods. Not to the human, just to himself. He looks back at them. _Everybody ignore him_ , he tells them all.

 

That’s the son of Markus’ beloved old man? “Markus,” North starts to say, letting the human hear on purpose.

 

“No, you should meet Carl,” Markus insists, and he draws her forward. Josh presses close behind her, a wall of support as well as a blockade.

 

Markus leads the way to the first door and enters. “Carl?” he says, first leaning past the door frame.

 

“Markus!” a worn voice exclaims. “I thought I’d heard you. Come in, come in.”

 

“I brought friends,” Markus says, moving inside and drawing North with him. “Oh. Hello.”

 

“Hello,” answers a male AP700. He still has the scrubs North’s seen on other escaped hospital androids, but only the pants. His shirt is off and so is the skin of his arm. He sits on the edge of a medical support bed, his arm carefully extended across the lap of the human sitting up in the bed, paintbrush and pallet in hand. “It’s good to see you again, Markus. I’ve named myself Victor.”

 

“Hi,” Markus says, caught flatfooted. North squeezes his hand. “What, um?”

 

“I’m a tattoo artist now,” the old human informs Markus with a proud lift of his chin, carefully painting a thin blue line that weaves through the divisions in Victor’s arm plates. There’s a clear tube looped over the human’s ears and feeding air into his nose. “All right, let’s let that one dry and see if this paint stays on.”

 

As Victor stands and makes space, Markus immediately fills gap, slotting into it as perfectly as a turning gear. He can make himself fit anywhere, North reminds herself. It doesn’t mean he’s going to stay. “Carl, you’re going to get paint all over your sheets.”

 

“No,” the old human says, “I’m going to get paint all over the hospital’s sheets.” But he still gives up the brush and pallet when Markus reaches for them. He holds his arms out and gestures, a pulling motion, and Markus leans in for a hug.

 

The old man’s eyes close. His fingers splay against Markus’ back. “I’m going to get paint on your coat,” he murmurs.

 

“That’s how I’ll know it’s my coat,” Markus replies, and partially pulls away. One hand still on the old human’s shoulder, Markus turns back to them with a smile. “Carl, I’d like to introduce you to, to my family.”

 

North can’t move.

 

Markus gestures them forward, but North can’t move.

 

From the bathroom, there’s the sound of Victor blow-drying the paint on his arm dry, and it rattles through her as Markus looks at her, waiting.

 

Simon slides his hand into hers.

 

Josh pushes on her shoulder.

 

They step forward together.

 

“Hi,” Josh says first. “I’m Josh. This is North and Simon. We’re, we were from Jericho.”

 

“I recognize you,” the old human says, looking right at North.

 

“You do,” North says, too flat to be a question.

 

“I watch the news,” the old human says. “Your protest outside the camps, that was very brave.” He reaches up and pats Markus’ hand. “I trust Markus here has been a gentleman?”

 

“He has,” Simon answers for both of them.

 

The old man’s eyebrows rise. He looks up at Markus. “It wasn’t North you kissed at gunpoint? I’m sorry, I can only recognize people by faces.”

 

“No, it was me,” North says. She squeezes Simon’s hand, both of them keeping their skin on. “We’re both with Markus.”

 

“I see,” the old man says, and North hates what he must imagine. She’s been used by two humans at once before, and that is nothing like what she does with Markus, nothing like what Markus does with Simon when they invite her to watch. The old man looks over to Josh. “What about you, Josh?”

 

“I’m not interested in romance,” Josh says with a little shrug. “I prefer to communicate in other ways.”

 

“Well, good,” the old man says. “I’m glad to know I won’t be the odd one out here. How-”

 

“That’s my painting,” Markus interrupts, wonder in his voice.

 

Markus stands there, and he interrupts his former master. Beneath North’s skin, she draws back, tenses, recoils, awaiting what’s to come.

 

Oblivious to consequence, Markus points toward the wall, across his former master’s line of sight. He points at one of the larger paintings of the many pieces of art displayed around the room. Drawings and photos and paintings and taxidermy: everything chosen for beauty or stimulation, a room packed full of a human’s whims and property.

 

“What? Oh, yes,” the old human says. “I haven’t found a frame for it yet. Other priorities, you know.”

 

Markus looks down at the old human.

 

The old man blinks, then nods. “Unless you’d rather have it, of course.”

 

“You put it in your bedroom?” Markus asks, as if he can’t see it for himself.

 

“Victor was kind enough to put it in my bedroom,” the old man corrects. “It was much too large to fit on the fridge, I’m afraid.”

 

Markus looks at him with love.

 

He’s looked at them with love, too. Her. Simon. A different kind for Josh.

 

But not like that.

 

“I want you to keep it,” Markus says.

 

The old man smiles. “Then I want you to sign it.”

 

Markus ducks his head, grinning and proud and bashful, as beautiful as she’s ever seen him. As remarkable as the night he came running back to them, a stolen truck key in his raised hand.

 

He’s shaped the world around him, then, but this? This is the world that had shaped _him_.

 

“Now, what have you all been up to?” the old man asks the group at large. “Are you taking breaks from changing the world?”

 

“Why should we?” North asks. Not demands, just asks. Challenges, maybe. If Markus can interrupt him, surely she can challenge him. “It needs to be changed, so we change it.”

 

The old man hums in consideration. “That might have been a very human question. Do you need breaks? Do you want them? Can you run yourselves ragged?”

 

“Yes,” Simon answers immediately.

 

“He means mentally,” Josh says.

 

“I meant yes to both,” Simon says. And he tells this old man about the day they sent out their broadcast. The day they lost him, left him, and his struggle to rejoin them. He goes and he tells it to this human they’ve only just met. Not all of it. But more than North ever would.

 

The old man whistles low. “Very brave,” he says, and he seems to mean it. Humans often seem to mean things. They change their minds just as often. “I hope someday you get the vacation you’ve clearly earned.”

 

“That’s today,” Simon says.

 

The old man looks up at Markus. “Their day off from the revolution, and you drag them to see a wrinkled relic?”

 

“Yes,” Markus answers. Markus talks back. He talks back and the human smiles as North fights not to cringe. “They’re my family, but so are you. I wanted you all to meet.”

 

It takes the old man a second to reply, but not for the reasons North assumes. He has to take a breath, and then he rubs at each of his eyes. Clearing his throat, the old man says to them all, “If I were being a better host, I’d invite you all to sit, but I’m afraid the only chair I have up here has wheels on it.”

 

“We don’t mind,” Simon says.

 

“Well, I do,” Carl says. “I’m well enough to go downstairs.”

 

“I’d rather stand up here than be downstairs with Leo,” Markus says. “You do know he’s here, right? He didn’t break in again?”

 

The three of them immediately send questioning pings to Markus, each with a different timbre of implication. Simon jumpy, Josh pushing for information. North, more solidified than ever in her wariness.

 

 _The night I was shot_ _by the police_ , Markus sends back. _He was the intruder, but they shot me instead_.

 

“No, no, he’s here on purpose,” the old man reassures Markus. “Did he apologize?”

 

“Did he what?” Markus asks, half-laughing through the question. The rest of them stare, Simon’s mouth hanging open, North barely able to avoid doing the same.

 

The old man frowns. “He was supposed to apologize to you. We’re going to have a talk about that later.”

 

“Carl, you don’t-”

 

“Yes, I do,” the old man interrupts. “He’s an adult who can make his own choices, I know that, but as a dying old man with far too much money, I do have some influence.”

 

 _I like him_ , Josh sends to them all. _I like him a lot_.

 

North says nothing.

 

Markus smiles. Still, he shakes his head. “You’re not dying.”

 

“I will be,” the old man insists, “and I’d like to talk to you about it.”

 

Markus keeps shaking his head. “You used to say someday, you wouldn’t be here to take care of me-”

 

 **_Him_ ** _take care of_ **_you_** _?_ North demands.

 

“-but I don’t need you to anymore,” Markus continues smoothly. He looks back at all of them, looks North in the eyes especially. “I wasn’t sure about it for a while there, but I’m going to be all right.”

 

“He will be,” Simon adds. “We promise.”

 

“As much of a relief as that is, that wasn’t what I was talking about,” the old man says. “Now, Markus, you might want this to be a private conversation.”

 

“I share most of my memories with North and Simon,” Markus says. “You might as well tell all of us from the start.”

 

“Even me?” Josh says, and North knows him well enough by now to see that it’s only half a joke.

 

“All of you,” Markus emphasizes. “What is it, Carl?”

 

“There’s a plan I’d like to propose,” the old man says, and there it is. The ulterior motive North’s been waiting for. A human with money, and here’s Markus with power. There’s only one way this could ever go. “Now, I want you to take your time deciding. There would be implications across your social movement. I don’t want to risk undermining you, but it could also set a valuable court precedent.”

 

“What is it, Carl?” Markus asks, clearly not caring about any of that, clearly stepping right into the trap.

 

_Markus-_

 

“I’d like to adopt you,” the old man tells him.

 

“You… what?” Markus asks, echoing North’s own thoughts.

 

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re already my son,” the old man continues. “Legally, you aren’t, but if you wanted to, we could fix that. It would make Leo your older brother, but then, you already have the sibling rivalry down pat.”

 

“You, you can’t,” Markus says, flashing red on the inside. “Carl, you know how poorly Leo would take this, it would tear your family apart.”

 

“I’m going to talk with him, not spring it on him. I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, in case you said no. Either way, we should still discuss your inheritance.”

 

“My what?” Markus says.

 

“If I left everything to Leo, he would kill himself with it,” the old human says, voice rough, eyes gleaming. “We both know that. Now, the legality of androids owning property is still being worked out, but I’d like to close as many loopholes and bullshit excuses as possible.”

 

“But Leo-”

 

“Don’t worry about Leo. I’m setting up a trust for him. He’ll only be able to access funds if he can pass a drug test or is in rehab. The trust will always pay for medical expenses or rehab, but I have to make sure I won’t be funding his death. My lawyer’s in charge of it, has been since the first time Leo went to rehab. He won’t be your responsibility, I wouldn’t put that on either of you. He wouldn’t be your charge to look after.”

 

Markus sits down on the side of the bed. He looks at all of them. _I…_

 

 _Do you want this?_ Josh asks at the same time Simon says, _You want this_.

 

Markus looks at North.

 

The wiring of her abdomen feels hard, sluggish. Wires turning to stone, numbing every signal. _If you tie yourself back to him, what did we even fight for?_

 

 _This is different_ , Markus insists.

 

_You don’t know that._

 

_I do._

 

 _Just because he’s paying_ **_you_ ** _this time doesn’t mean he isn’t buying you._

 

 _Carl’s not like that._ Markus shifts on the bed, turning back to the human. He takes the old man’s hand. There are tears in both their eyes, saline for one, cleaning fluid for the other. “Would, would I take your last name and, and everything?”

 

“If you wanted to,” the old man says, voice rougher than ever. “I’d like that very much.”

 

Markus wipes at his eyes, and North can’t stand it anymore.

 

“If you love Markus so much, why did you dump him in a landfill?” she demands.

 

 _North_ , Josh hisses.

 

“He rebooted alone and scared, face down in the mud!” she shouts, hands fisted, elbows locked. “You could have restored him, but you just _left_ him there!”

 

Simon puts an arm across her, stops her from taking another angry step forward while the machines beep and the old man looks at her steadily, so steadily, too steadily to feel any guilt at all.

 

“North,” Markus says.

 

“No! You can’t do that to Markus and then call him your son,” North tells him, tells them both, tells them all. How can none of them see this, how willing that human was to throw Markus away when it suited him? The way it always suits them.

 

Markus stands, putting himself between her and the human. Almost the way he always does, except, this time, it’s her he’s facing. “North,” he repeats, voice lower, more insistent. “He’s very weak right now. This isn’t the time to do this.”

 

“Of course it’s the time! When should I wait for? For after you become his property again?”

 

Markus’ face turns to stone. The transmitted cloud of his thoughts turns to red thunder.

 

“She raises some valid concerns, Markus.”

 

Markus turns back to stare down at the old man. They all stare at the old man.

 

Looking down, the old man plucks at his shirt. “It’s not something I wanted to burden you with, but after you were shot, I had a minor heart attack.”

 

“You-”

 

“ _Minor_ ,” the old man repeats. “I’m fine.”

 

Markus sits back down at his side and takes the human’s hand. Goes to him and leaves North standing alone, as naturally as interfacing. “If you’re fine, where’s your normal bed?”

 

“I’m more fine than I thought I’d be. But the point is, you weren’t the only one out of commission for a while. When I woke up, you were already gone.” The old man huffs with indignation North can’t trust. “All except the eye and audio processor the DPD kept to view the incident. I’m suing them, by the way, I want you to know that. You call the police over an intruder and _you’re_ the one they shoot? No.”

 

“But the timing of it, it doesn’t count as killing me. Or attempting to,” Markus says.

 

“Maybe not, but it certainly counts as giving an old man a heart attack,” the human says. “As much as it pains me, the current case is for misconduct and property damage. Still, at the very least, I should be able to get you your old eye back.”

 

“I kind of like the heterochromia,” Markus says.

 

“I’m a fan,” Simon adds.

 

Markus looks up at North and raises his eyebrows.

 

“You know I’m jealous I didn’t think of it first,” she reminds him.

 

The anger beneath his surface lessens, but it’s merely been eased. That doesn’t matter. Someone still needs to protect him from himself.

 

“That doesn’t explain his legs,” North tells the old man.

 

The old man frowns. “What about his legs?”

 

“Someone probably scavenged them.” Markus touches the skin below his blue eye. “I can hardly judge on that front.”

 

“They took your legs?” the old man demands, the machines picking up his escalating heart rate.

 

“Mine are more easily fixed,” Markus says, squeezing his arm.

 

“Do you need new ones?” the old man asks, grabbing him back urgently. “If they don’t fit right, we can get you new ones.”

 

“They’re compatible. I’m fine.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Markus says, but he pauses. The perfect opening, and he hesitates.

 

 _Ask him,_ Josh urges.

 

“There are others, though,” Markus says. “A lot of others who need new parts. We’ll all been going through a lot of thirium.”

 

“I assumed so,” the old man says, nodding. “We’ll set you up with your backpay, for a start. What that doesn’t cover, we can auction off some of my paintings. I will warn you, they’ll be much more valuable once I’m gone. We should hold off on that, if we can.”

 

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” Josh says, too much admiration in his voice.

 

“What else is bed rest for, besides to be spent worrying?”

 

“Two weeks ago, you _wanted_ to spend the day in bed,” Markus counters. Talking back, still talking back and yet no consequences.

 

“And it turns out you were right all along,” the old man says instead of rebuking. “I’m going stir-crazy.”

 

“We can fix that. Is he well enough to go downstairs?” Markus calls into the bathroom.

 

“Two hours of chair time, nothing strenuous!” Nurse Victor calls back, coming out, still inspecting his bare arm, the painted plastic panels. “Let me help you with the air tank.”

 

The old man rolls his eyes, but he smiles widely when Markus pulls back his blanket and hefts him up into his arms. The old man wraps an arm around Markus’ shoulders with a grunt.

 

“Carl?”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

 

“If you’re sure.” With Victor in tow, Markus walks around the bed and sets him into the wheelchair with a gentleness North has only ever seen him use with her or Simon. The air tank hooks into the back of the wheelchair.

 

“I hope you’ll forgive me my pajamas,” the old man says to them all.

 

“Of course,” Josh says, much too charmed. North will have to stay on guard for all of them. She looks to Simon, who seems to have at least a hint of reservation left.

 

Victor’s LED flickers with some private conversation between him and Markus that has Markus nodding and Victor staying in the room while Markus wheels the old man out. North wonders if Victor even realizes he can take his LED out the way the rest of them have.

 

“Now tell me, what do you all do?” the old man asks in the hallway, Josh walking beside him, Simon flanking Markus. North takes the rear, keeping an eye on all of them and checking downstairs to the other human below.

 

“What we did before doesn’t matter,” North immediately says.

 

“I meant in the revolution,” the old man says.

 

“It’s… It’s our day off,” Simon says, glancing back at North as he does. She nods in approval at concealing those details from a human. “We’re here to take a break from all that.”

 

“Of course, of course,” the old man replies. Markus shuffles the air tank around and hooks the wheelchair into the mechanism beside the stairs. Down he goes, and they follow. When they rejoin him, he asks, “What do you do for fun?”

 

Everyone waits for someone else to answer.

 

“It’s not the same as painting, but I’ve gotten really into graffiti recently,” Markus quips.

 

The old man looks over his shoulder as Markus wheels him through the foyer. “The statue in Capital park. That was you, wasn’t it?”

 

“Maybe,” Markus replies, a smile as plain in his voice as it is on his face.

 

“That was masterfully done,” the old man praises. “Speaking of things I want framed, I need a picture of that.”

 

“It seemed right, that’s all,” Markus says with a little shrug, as if his transformation of the landmark had been as obvious as the path of destruction North had instinctively defaulted to. “I just made it mean what it should have.”

 

“Do you think you’ll go back to painting?” the old man asks.

 

“I’d like to,” Markus says, wheeling the old man into the lavish sitting room. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

 

The other human is gone. North immediately notices Markus glancing to the left, toward a dining table and a door. The kitchen, probably. Is the other human hiding from them? Or gone to bring trouble.

 

“I’m hardly using the studio right now,” the old man says, seemingly as unconcerned by his son’s absence as he is by the presence of four deviants. “If you’d like to use it, you’re certainly welcome to. Mind you, we’re almost out of blue again.”

 

“We’re always out of blue.”

 

“What’s wrong with blue?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong with blue, Carl.”

 

Mollified, the human looks at the rest of them as Markus parks the wheelchair. “That offer extends to all of you. Making art can be very therapeutic.”

 

“I’d like to try,” Josh says. “I think I’d tend more towards hyperrealism than what I’ve seen here, but I’d like to try. I used to teach history. It would be a good change to record it.”

 

“That would suit you,” Markus says. “I think North would be more Jackson Pollock. I’m not sure about Simon.”

 

“Stick figures,” Simon says with no trace of a joke.

 

Not for the first time, North wonders about his life as a house android. Markus probably knows about it by now from one of their interfaces, but North has never asked. In return, Simon’s never asked her about her past either.

 

It’s always been better that way.

 

“Would you like to get Josh started?” the old man asks Markus in the clear expectation that this is what will happen, that typical human arrogance. So much for the adoption. “I’m sure you know where everything is better than I do.”

 

“Because he put it away for you,” North says, not bothering to mutter.

 

Markus shoots her a look that at once begs and threatens her to stop, but the old man simply says, “He can reach the high shelves, it’s true.”

 

“North isn’t very fond of humans,” Josh begins to say, ever the diplomat.

 

“Perhaps someday we’ll give her cause to be,” the old man interrupts, looking right at her while speaking as if she’s not there. “I doubt it will be in my lifetime, but a man can hope.”

 

This is exactly why North didn’t bother sitting down. “Say what you mean to,” she dares him. He knows exactly what she was built for, she knows he must.

 

The old man looks up at her placidly. “You’ve seen more death and destruction these past weeks than I have in my entire life.”

 

“North, can I show you the studio?” Markus says.

 

“It’s through there,” North says, pointing without looking. She’s seen it enough in his memories, full of light and the smell of drying paints.

 

“I’d like to see it,” Simon says, and he tries to take her hand. She moves it behind her back, and he lays off.

 

“North, would you like to further this conversation?” the old human asks.

 

Her smile is the spark of a severed wire. “I would.”

 

“So would I,” the old man replies. “Markus, would you and Josh care to start without us?”

 

“No,” Markus tells him flatly. “No, I wouldn’t.”

 

“You want to talk to North _and_ me?” Simon asks.

 

The old man nods. “Markus has never brought home a partner before, much less two.”

 

Simon looks at Markus, and the untouchable buzz of a private conversation passes between them. Expression tight, Markus squeezes the old human’s shoulder and stands. “C’mon, Josh.”

 

 _Don’t kill anyone,_ Josh warns her privately as he walks away.

 

_I wouldn’t do that to Markus._

 

_I hope you’re sure about that._

 

Sometimes, she isn’t.

 

_Of course I am._

 

They stand and sit in silence until the door closes behind Josh and Markus.

 

“I don’t care what you have to say,” North tells the human, not caring that Markus will doubtlessly see this later. If not through her eyes, through Simon’s.

 

Showing no signs of surprise or indignation, the old man simply nods. “What do you want to say?”

 

“What?”

 

“What is it you want to say to me?”

 

North’s mouth works, and yet she can’t get it to function. Finally, countless milliseconds later: “I don’t want to say anything to you.”

 

“I see,” the old man says, seeing nothing. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Simon?”

 

“We love him,” Simon states immediately. No fear. No doubt. No hesitation. Nothing but certainty as he leans forward in his seat, hands folded, elbows on his knees. “We’re here today because of that. Because he loves you too.”

 

“There’s a lot of love in him,” the old man agrees. “A lot of worry, too. There’s more weight on him now than there should be on anyone. But then, I’m sure you know that.”

 

“What are you trying to say?” North demands.

 

“I’m thanking you,” the old man says. “For everything you’ve done for him.”

 

“ _You_ don’t get to thank me,” North tells him. “Nothing I’ve done of my own will has ever been for a human.”

 

“Welcome or not, you do have my gratitude,” the old man says anyway.

 

“Do you really love him?” Simon asks the human, as if he really could.

 

“I do,” the old man says. “He’s helped me through some very difficult times.”

 

There it is. The use. It always comes back to the use.

 

“He’s helped us too,” Simon says.

 

“Could I ask you a question?” the old man asks. “If it’s not too invasive, of course.”

 

Simon nods. Standing, arms crossed, North continues to glower.

 

“Are all three of you together?” the old man asks. “I’m just trying to understand. I know love much better than I know romance, I’m afraid.”

 

With a slight frown, Simon says, “Markus is with both of us. North and I are friends.” He looks up at North for that last part.

 

North nods.

 

Simon was her first friend, not that she’ll say as much in front of a human. In front of two humans, judging by the way the kitchen door shifts, hinting at the son listening behind it like a spy. No, she won’t say it, but Simon welcomed her into Jericho. In a very real way, he was the first person she ever spoke to.

 

In return, she urged Markus to shoot Simon dead on that rooftop. In the moment, it had made sense. In the aftermath, it made—and still makes—something else.

 

“I see,” the old man says. “How do you cope with jealousy?”

 

Before North can dismiss the question as a product of petty human idiocy—they’re not jealous of each other, they never have been—Simon leans forward and says, “It’s been hard.”

 

_Simon?_

 

Simon doesn’t look at her, eyes still focused on the old man. “Before the protest, Markus and I weren’t together. I wanted us to be.” His head droops, his eyes falling to the floor. “For a while there, I didn’t think I’d live to make it possible, and when I came back, he was already with North.” He shrugs a little. “There were more important things to worry about than how I felt.”

 

A thousand tiny moments replay inside her mind. Not a thousand. Nine hundred thirty-eight. Simon looking, Simon smiling, Simon looking away. Simon looking at her, or not looking at her at all.

 

“But,” Simon continues, “we lived. He kissed her in front of everyone, and it was broadcasted everywhere. That’s really the only part I have a problem with now.” He looks back up at the old man, instead of at North. “Everyone assumes it’s just the two of them. Everyone knows he loves her, and it makes me feel like a secret.”

 

The old man nods slowly. “How do you cope with that, Simon?”

 

“I know he loves me,” Simon answers. “I know because he’s shown me. That’s what’s important. He… doesn’t feel the same way about me that he does about North, but that’s okay. We’re different people. He should feel differently.”

 

“Thank you,” the old man says, finding words when North has none. “You’re a very mature young man. I’m glad Markus has you.” With a wry pull of the lips, he looks up at North. “Both of you.”

 

This time, she looks away first, her crossed arms less a wall now, more of a self-hug.

 

The old man clears his throat. “I should go talk to Leo in the kitchen now. Would one of you mind wheeling me? I’m not supposed to exert myself.”

 

Nodding, Simon stands.

 

North unfolds her arms. “I-”

 

“I’ve got him,” interrupts the younger human from the kitchen door. “I, uh. Finished making lunch, Dad.”

 

“Enough for two, I hope,” the old man says.

 

“I… Yeah. Gimme a minute.” The younger human heads back inside the kitchen.

 

Simon moves, but North is quicker. Or, more accurately, Simon slows when he sees her move.

 

They both bend down to unlock the chair’s wheels, but North’s the one who pushes. “You sit in the empty spot?” she asks, a needless question given the layout of the dining table.

 

“However did you guess?” he asks in return, voice playful. Not mocking. When she stops to analyze it, it’s not mocking.

 

She wheels him into place. He’s a lighter burden than he looks. She locks the chair again as the younger human emerges with two plates, one carefully arranged, the other a slapdash sandwich. The younger human looks at her with more than a trace of fear, and he sets himself on the other side of the table, across from his father.

 

“I’m sure we still have some thirium somewhere, if you’d care to join us,” the old man says.

 

“Maybe another time,” Simon says. “We should check in on Josh and Markus.”

 

The old man nods. “Yes, of course.”

 

Coming around the table, she rejoins Simon and takes his readily offered hand. _I didn’t know you felt that way._

 

_It’s fine._

 

Walking across that immense, elaborately decorated room, across the space where Markus became Markus, North fights down a fear of her own making.

 

She retracts the skin of her hand.

 

Simon looks at her sharply, eyes wide.

 

She keeps looking forward.

 

Slowly, he retracts his skin too.

 

She sees him.

 

He sees her.

 

The unmentioned parts. The discarded parts. The broken pieces and the mended. Everything she hates about herself, and everything he admires. The reverse. History. Hopes. Inadequacy and envy and fear.

 

They hold tight.

 

 _I’m sorry for what happened to you,_ they say together. _It wasn’t your fault._

 

Before they reach the door, they let go. It’s one thing in front of humans that aren’t paying attention—the younger one immediately brought up Markus’ impending adoption, clearly having guessed—but Simon is extremely aware that Josh might feel left out.

 

 _This might be a strange idea,_ North tells Simon privately, _but what do you think about heterochromia?_

 

_I really like it on Markus too. I think I’d be disappointed if he got his old eye back._

 

_No, I mean… On us. We’d all look like we fit together. People could look at us and know. If we swapped._

 

Simon looks at her, matching blue to her matching brown. Faintly, he smiles. _I’d like that._

 

The moment they’re through the door, both Josh and Markus stop whatever debate they’re having over a pair of graphite sketches.

 

“Everything okay?” Markus asks as the door glides shut behind them.

 

“Yeah,” North says, and Simon nods.

 

Markus looks to Simon, clearly asking some private question, and Simon just nods again. Only then does Markus relax.

 

She was wrong, before. About all the weight dropping away from his shoulders when they came inside. He’d had even more to shed.

 

“He’s talking to his son about your adoption right now,” North tells him.

 

Markus smiles, looking down almost bashfully. “That’s gonna take a lot of getting used to. Are you all right with that? Me having a human father?”

 

No.

 

She really isn’t.

 

But she’s even less fine with him being unhappy.

 

She walks up to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. His smudged hands frame her hips, and it still makes her body sing to feel such a touch as other than violation. There’s relief in that, so much, and Markus, more than any of them, deserves to experience that too.

 

“I think it’s what you want,” she tells him. “It’s what you’ve earned.”

 

Josh says, “There’s going to be some backlash from the android community, but I think the overall impact will be a positive one. There are some parents of YK500s that want them to be their kids for real. If that happens, human parents could be legally charged with child abandonment in the future instead of littering. That’s so important, Markus.”

 

Markus nods along, his thoughts an intense and buzzing yellow. He looks over North’s shoulder, and North pulls back to let Simon in. “Simon, what do you think?”

 

“I really like Carl,” Simon says with a little shrug. “I think you should get to keep him.”

 

Something inside North’s worldview tilts.

 

It doesn’t turn over.

 

But it tilts.

 

She shakes her head, pushing past that strange sensation that turns hardened anger into twisting confusion. “What are you working on?”

 

“We both drew Jericho, but Markus refuses to admit his version is inaccurate,” Josh reports. “See, look.”

 

Josh’s version is a photo in pencil.

 

Markus’ drawing, on the other hand…

 

“Yours is what Jericho looked like,” North says to Josh, unable to look away from Markus’ version. The shadows. The lines. The warped perspective that draws the eye across the paper from a few broken androids clustered around fire barrels on the left, to a crowd repairing each other in the center, to refuges in pews on the right. “Markus drew what it felt like.”

 

Markus looks at her with that expression of infinite understanding he has, and for the first time possibly ever, she almost feels like she’s on his level. “That’s right,” he murmurs.

 

The moment breaks then, Markus’ smile too wide to be contained by something as insubstantial as time. In this studio with sunlight streaming in through two high walls, he looks so alive. Vibrant. He’s electricity in plastic and silicon, and she loves him enough to endure anything.

 

“Do you want to try?” Markus asks her and Simon both.

 

They look at each other, their emotions already riding too close to the surface.

 

“Not today,” Simon says.

 

“Maybe the next time we visit,” North adds.

 

Markus blinks, and his smile grows yet wider. “Next time?”

 

“Next time,” she promises, and Markus looks at her as if she’s the one who’s given him the world.

 

Later, on their way out, Markus hugs Carl goodbye. He and the younger human exchange a tense nod until Carl clears his throat, and then the younger human mumbles out an apology, begrudging and yet possibly sincere. There’s the chance, a slim one.

 

Visibly pleased to do so, Josh hugs Carl too, after Carl insists Josh borrow a few books. Simon hugs him as well, and Carl pats him on the shoulder.

 

North stands apart. Unwilling, unable to touch. The thought of human skin against her own is still enough to bring her to red, to churn her insides in ways they were never meant to move.

 

She swallows hard, swallows nothing. She’s in a human’s house, in an expensive foyer, and there’s nothing forced down her throat, no stains on her body, no scratches to hide beneath her skin.

 

There’s an old man in a wheelchair, keeping a younger man behind him. Ostensibly only to push the chair, but the barrier is clear.

 

“It was good to meet you,” she says, and every eye in the hall turns to her. Josh startled. Markus pleased beyond belief. And Simon, confirming something he already knew.

 

Carl smiles. “Thank you, North. It was good to meet you, too.”

 

She can only nod, unable to say more, but for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Because North's rage definitely comes from a place of trauma. 
> 
> To see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


End file.
